Descendant

by Jeffrey A. Levin

She points to a bearded guy wearing a T-shirt declaring, “Perverse Optics.”

  “This is Soc, resident philosopher, writer, and gilli grower.”

  Judging from the stash on the table, I surmise that gilli is some sort of dark matter hallucinogen—probably pot.

  “Glad to meet you,” he utters, reaching out and shaking my hand.

  “This handsome guy is Diego, mathematician extraordinaire and overall dark guy,” the girl says. “And lastly, this is Lucas, funky acoustic guitarist and, well, my boyfriend. We call him Big Dipper.”

  Ezekial’s eyes dart feverishly around the room.

  I wonder if this is still a part of the programmed simulated reality called Conway’s Game.

  A shirtless Lucas reaches out his hand. I see he has no tattoos. “Welcome! You guys look dark. Have a seat.”

  I don’t know for certain, but I assume ‘dark’ means ‘cool.’

  I peer over at Ezekial. “This is my buddy Zeke, time traveler extraordinaire.”

  Zeke shoots me another stern look.

  “You the guys that came through that wormhole?”

  Zeke appears surprised. “I didn’t know that was common knowledge?”

  “We’re all just living out a biblical prophecy,” Soc says matter-of-factly. “Nothing wrong with dying—not on this moon anyway.”

  “What Bible is that?” I say.

  “The one that says that the Bible is the number-one source of atheism, dude. Haven’t you heard?”

  I nod. “Sure, man… got it.”

  Zeke glances quickly out the window, probably wondering if this is still part of the game, just a more advanced version for accelerated players.

  “Don’t worry; I think we’re safe,” Diego states, looking up from some mathematical equation that he’s scrawled on a sheet of paper. “Unless the wicked bitch of the north, Victoria, has a special bone to pick with you guys, she’ll leave you alone now that you’ve entered this neighborhood.”

  “Really?” Zeke asks.

  “Yeah, you’re with the hoodsters; we’re all righteous dudes,” Diego says.

  I take a breath. “I don’t get it; what’s goin’ on here?”

  “You guys look pretty righteous to me. You see, Victoria—or should I say Queen Victoria, or Friggin’ Nut Case Victoria—has taken over this planet,” Soc says mockingly.

  “How so?” Zeke inquires, still looking around suspiciously. Zeke hasn’t taken his eye off of the girl the whole time. He obviously suspects that something is up.

  “Well, I’m sure you noticed that this whole place is dedicated to gaming. Victoria Vorashian holds all of the bits, so to speak. In other words, anyone gaming tonight—which is two-thirds of this planet’s population—is paying cash for the right to do it!”

  “What are the games like? How do we know that we’re not a part of a game now?”

  “Good question, Zeke. The games are either perverted sexual games, psycho murder games, or some weird mystery treasure hunt amusement that keeps the morons goin’ on this planet,” Soc quips. “Listen, guys, if you were under programmed control, you’d have your own little gig with us—you know, your own little script.”

  “So if we were under Victoria’s control, our brains would already be programmed and we wouldn’t be able to think creatively, right?” asks Zeke.

  The girl smiles at Zeke, blushing as if he is some sort of rock star. “That’s exactly right. By the way, my name is Bird Dog. It used to be just Sleuth, but these hairy mongrels like Bird Dog better. You can call me B.D.” She reaches out her hand, shaking with Zeke and then me.

  “Why do they call you that?” Zeke asks politely.

  “Probably because I’m the one who works in and out of the crowd, just checking out what’s going on. Then I report back to these guys.”

  “On this planet, we’re called Yeti Crabs; as long as we stay out of their way, they sorta leave us alone,” B.D. responds somberly.

  “Why Yeti Crabs?”

  Diego snickers, taking a hit. “A yeti crab is a small microorganism than can hide from evil predators. They don’t exist in many places in the universe.”

  “Just in this apartment,” Soc quips.

  “So all of those people aren’t really people at all… they’re robots?” Zeke inquires, accepting a quick hit of gilli from Diego’s stash.

  “Not really, man,” Soc quips. “Victoria’s too vain for that. They are people or humans or whatever you want to call them. They’re alive, with vile programmed chips in their heads.”

  “But controlled?” Zeke asks.

  “Yes, every one of them can be monitored like a robot and watched.” Soc says.

  Diego snickers. “Are you guys into dystopia? If you are, you’re in the right place.”

  “Victoria says it’s all about giving us purpose—either the purpose to be a part of the game or to try to predict and bet on the outcome. Some purpose, huh?”

  “So this Victoria is holding all of the cards. She knows who’s arriving, even if you emerge through a wormhole, and she can regulate the behavior of the majority of the planet by using brain implants.”

  “Except for a few rebels like us; she tends to leave us alone.”

  “Why do you think she leaves you alone?” I inquire.

  Bird Dog stares at Soc and Diego. They look at each other for what seems to be a long time.

  “Listen, TT dudes,” Diego says sarcastically, “God doesn’t live here—no sign of ’im, man. We Yeti Crabs do what we need to do to survive.”

  I gasp. “The bodies?”

  “You got it, champ. We feed the bodies into the hole. They’re dead already, if that helps any self-righteous judgment goin’ on by the graybeard. We pitch the bodies into the hole, and the bitch leaves us alone. That’s the way we Yetis stay alive, and we aim to keep it that way.”

  I glance over at Zeke. He gently nods. “We all do what we need to do to survive.”

  “You got that right, Plato!” Soc smiles. “Glad you get it, pops.”

  Zeke stares out the window again. “Damn, they’re coming! I see some cyborgs marching through the alley toward your place!”

  “They’re the soldiers. They don’t exist beyond the game. They’re just on a quest, probably to find the two of you!” Soc says.

  “Who are they?”

  “It’s not who they are; it’s what they are,” Bird Dog proclaims. “They’re cruelty machines. You two need to get the hell out of here!”

  “What will they do if they catch us?” I interject, feeling shots of surging adrenaline rushing through my veins.

  “They’ll turn you into one of their mannequins, equipped with a lobotomy and all! You’ll be one of them!” B.D. says frantically.

  Zeke quickly closes the curtains

  “They have us on some sort of radarlike QPS; we’re cooked!” I say nervously.

  “You’re right! We have to somehow unplug their link to us!”

  “I’ve got to get out of here! I can’t die in this bot-infested place! How do we get out of here, Zeke?”

  Zeke wraps his massive hands around my shoulders; his eyes seem to bore into me.

  “Do you remember the gift Copernicus gave you?”

  I nod.

  “Do you also remember the code that unlocks the different dimensions?”

  I nod dutifully again. “No time like the present, Zeke!”

  “Okay. Hold my hand, Michael!”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re still living in a three-dimensional world; even if it’s a dark energy world, it’s three dimensional!”

  The door bursts open.

  “Concentrate, Michael… concentrate!”

  My eyes meet the glassy burnished lenses of the cyborg. I know they have us; we are goners. I can see their retinas blinking
, shooting out light beams, locking me into their sights.

  Bird Dog yells, “Now! Do it, Michael! Do it!”

  I close my eyes and imagine the forces necessary to send these creatures into oblivion. Thank God I remember Copernicus’s secret code!

  I know it’s strange, but the code was “Machos,” which stands for “massive astrophysical compact helium objects.” It’s a strange chemical combination involving brown dwarfs; balls of hydrogen; and helium dosages with a molarity of less than 0.007.

  “Wait!” I say. We need to add baryons with a dash of deuterium. I summon all the ingredients with the help of my extended mind.

  The gigantic cyborgs glare through their VR glasses. They begin walking toward Zeke and me. Now! Here goes!

  Void… darkness… quiet.

  Open them. Open your eyes slowly. They’re gone. The cyborgs are gone!

  “You saved our lives, Michael… you did it!” Zeke shouts.

  I take a deep breath, wrapping my arms around Zeke and not wanting to let go. We’ve escaped Victoria’s cyborgs and a life of indentured servitude.

  “But Michael, they’re still going to burn bodies.”

  I wince. “Is that why you took me on this journey?”

  Zeke smiles softly. “I took you on this journey to open your eyes to a world you haven’t seen before.”

  SECTION III

  CHAPTER 26

  Earth

  July 7, 2378

  9:07:22

  Candy caught Bo in bed with the red head.

  She threw a fit and a fern and the “F” word at the both of them.

  She peppered him with the bbs cause she couldn’t find the 12-gauge

  Said Cindy Lou I know you’re husband and there’s gonna be hell to pay.

  —Lady Antebellum (ancient songwriters)

  My mother wakes up with her hair on fire.

  “Mom, it’s red!” I say.

  She throws me a life preserver.

  “What the—”

  “Get up! We’re going to Blue Bimini!”

  “Why’d you dye your hair?”

  She throws me a T-shirt, flinging off my covers. I glance at the T-shirt, which says “Paranoia is for Pussies!” I never should have told her about my experiences with Ezekial. I hope that’s not it.

  I take a prolonged breath. I’m not sure what was worse—escaping the crazed planet of Vorashia or dealing with my mother this morning.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” I say, sounding like a wounded hyena.

  She shakes her head. “Your father is what’s wrong. He left this morning for Austria!”

  “Shit,” I whisper under my breath. The words “puzzles and pieces” shoot into my head. Not again, not again, not again, I perseverate.

  I see one long, lonely tear slithering down my mother’s cheek. She doesn’t have to say anything; I know it was her. Who’s her? The hell if I know. All I know is the voice. I’ve heard her voice, and if this woman is anything like her voice, we are all in trouble.

  I stare at my wrist phone, called a puppic, punching in the text “where r we goin’?”

  A beep bings rudely on my mom’s wrist. She stares at it.

  “I’m right here, Michael.”

  I reach into my drawer for another T-shirt, placing “Paranoia is for Pussies” on my bed. Instead I pull out one bearing mom’s favorite ancient, Bob Marley.

  Monica stares at it. “Everything’s going to be all right!” She smiles.

  I walk into the bathroom and spike my hair like a professional wrestler’s. Or do I look more like a skunk with its fur on fire?

  “It’s going to be one of those days,” I whisper to myself. Do I really need this after my long journey?

  “All right, Mom, you win. Why Blue Bimini?”

  The name Blue Bimini was once a dog whistle for fear. Back in the day, a UFO base was discovered by Google Maps. Pictures from space came back displaying an alien station two thousand feet below the surface. Yet it couldn’t be confirmed because it somehow disappeared before anyone could substantiate it. Today those same whispers surround Blue Bimini.

  My mom closes the curtains. “I want out of here; that’s all. Can’t a woman make her own decisions? Besides, our island is an ET haven. It’s crazy! I’m sick of it, okay?”

  I rustle through my dresser drawers, trying to find my OOPS hat. No luck. My thoughts return to my mother. “Here it is!” I exclaim, pulling out a hat that says, “Go Deep!” I make an aborted attempt to place it on my head, but it keeps falling off. Have you ever tried to put a hat on over spiked hair? Even Keith Richards would look stupid doing that.

  I take another deep breath. I stare at Terby. My doggy coughs out a note on an ancient sheet of paper that reads, “You’re getting in over your head!”

  I nod as I throw on my blue swimsuit with a red stripe.

  Mom smiles. Boy, I love it when she smiles. There’s actually nothing better in life than seeing my mom happy.

  The next thing I know, we’re jumping onto our boat, Sea Risk It. My mom wanted to call it Sea-crit.

  “I’m drivin’” is the first thing I hear her say.”

  Damn it to hell, I muse. This can’t be good.

  Seconds later, Mom hits the accelerator hard and we’re airborne. That’s right, I forgot to tell you this hydroplane can fly like Falco peregrinus.

  My nickname for our boat is Louie. You’re going to ask me why. Well, when I was a kid, my punk rocker, ancient-enthusiast mom introduced me to a song called “Louie Louie.” It’s still my favorite. Go figure.

  When we hit 150 miles per hour, I scream, “Slow down!”

  “Not on your life!” Monica urges, hitting the accelerator instead.

  “Damn it to hell, Mom, you’re going to kill us!”

  Monica’s red hair flings backward, casting fiery images against the serene blue sky. Strangely, Monica reminds me of Portia, Brutus’s wife in Julius Caesar. I picture her with a knife in her hand, ready to drive its sharp edges into her thigh.

  “Slow down!” I plead.

  Finally she steers our flying fish down to the water, crashing it against the unsuspecting surf.

  Water sprays over our faces like a crazed waterfall, shooting mercilessly in every direction.

  “Happy?” I say. “Are you trying to kill us?”

  “He’s a bastard,” Monica says with a fiery grin on her face that matches her hair. “There! I said it! I can’t take it back, and I’m happy!”

  I shake my head. “My T-shirt feels like a soggy sponge, Mom.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Now that Sea Risk It is moving at only a forty-mile-per-hour clip, I take a deep breath.

  “Got it, Mom—you’re pissed.” I pull off my waterlogged T-shirt.

  “Why Blue Bimini, Mom?”

  Monica smiles, placing her super cool retro zero UV black mirrored sunglasses on. She glares into the sun as if it’s her last day on earth.

  Maybe it is, I muse.

  I know she’s my mom, but she is a sight. She looks like a red-headed female Thor, without the helmet.

  “Forget him, Mom; he’s a jerk!”

  A moment of silence occurs.

  She smiles luridly. “I stole a folder off your father’s desk. It’s labeled ‘Blue Bimini coordinates.’ It came with a map and all.”

  “So, you figured, ‘Let’s go!’”

  “You’re perceptive, Michael. I figure if you can take a spaceship onto a fourth-dimensional asteroid, you can take a ride on our boat to Blue Bimini!”

  I hug my mom. Yes, we’re both cold and soggy, but I figure she can use a good hug.

  She smiles. “Let’s go!” she screams, gripping the throttle. We nearly lift off the ground again.

  I shake my head. Gotta love Monica, I m
use.

  “You’re nuts!” I say with a big smile on my face.

  “Thanks for the hug.” Monica smiles, wisely taking us for a nice cruise along the coast of California. We pass Santa Rosa, San Miguel, and a few other places on the way up the coast.

  “We’re headed toward the Channel Islands,” she says.

  “Haven’t they floated farther out to sea?” I quip.

  Monica nods. “They’ve formed a new version of the Bermuda Triangle. It’s now called the Channel Islands Stonehenge. According to your father’s notes, there’s something very interesting down there. I thought you and I could spend a nice day scuba diving.”

  “Isn’t that place forbidden by the CIA?” I say.

  “Not our boat; we’re Eisensteins, remember? No one stops us!”

  “I have the coolest mom anywhere,” I say. “What’s down there, exactly?”

  My mom puts on her California Angels hat, placing it slightly sideways like the pros. “Down there?” she says. “Probably your father’s bedroom. Word has it that he’s sleeping with bug-eyed aliens these days.”

  It’s a good time for me to remain quiet—ya know what I mean?

  I nod as I stare through my souped-up SAP-5 binos. I could probably see what’s happening on the moon with these things.

  “What do you see, Michael?”

  “A galaxy far, far away,” I quip.

  Mom chortles. “That’s normal enough for this family.”

  “Actually I see a ghost town. Does anyone still live in San Diego?”

  “They’re all shut in, son. No one goes out anymore. Most people are afraid to open their windows, let alone journey outdoors.”

  I nod. “Fear of the ETs… “Eerie!”

  I adjust my 2016p high-definition lenses and stare at the beach.

  “Desolate, Mom,” I whisper. “I only see pelicans, seagulls, and harbor seals at Scorpion Bay—no people.”

  It’s not often that a flying yacht lands smack dab in the middle of a blue-water island. Blue Bimini is perhaps the most peaceful-looking lake I’ve ever seen.

  “This is cool, Mom. We’re right in the middle of a blue bathtub. What do we do now?

  Monica smiles that big crafty smile of hers, taking off her Angels hat and scratching her red hair.